


backbone

by plingo_kat



Category: Aquaman (2018)
Genre: Bioluminescence, Incest, M/M, Ritual Sex, Sibling Incest, Spines, sort of dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 18:50:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17269136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: “I have towhat?” If Arthur could choke on water, he would.





	backbone

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags. There are definite dubcon elements in this fic, although in the end everybody consents.

“I have to _what_?” If Arthur could choke on water, he would. Instead he just gapes at Vulko.

“It’s tradition, I’m afraid.” Vulko looks embarrassed behind his stern expression, for all that his posture is a court-perfect stand at attention. “An ancient one, and one not advisable to break.”

“Isn’t, uh,” Arthur scrambles for an alternative. “Isn’t the trident enough? I mean, I’m already king, right?”

“You’re not king until the coronation, Arthur.” Vulko drifts a little closer for emphasis. “While you have popular support, it won’t last long if you flout Atlantean customs.”

“I don’t even want to be king,” Arthur grouses. “If Orm would just get his head out of his ass--”

“Orm lost to you in public combat and formally renounced his position,” Vulko reminds Arthur. “Given Queen Atlanna’s re-emergence, his right to the throne is twice removed.”

“And Mom doesn’t want to live down here,” Arthur sighs. Which is completely within her rights, given what shit she went through; if she never wants to set foot in Atlantis again, Arthur won’t ask her to. “Yeah, I get it. We have to keep Atlantis stable, or else war might still break out.”

“Just so.” Vulko inclines his head. “While the Brine are sufficiently appeased by your retrieval of the trident, Xebel and the Fisherman kingdom hold enough suspicion and enmity to cause... issues.”

“And it doesn’t help that Orm killed the princess’ dad.” Arthur scrubs his hands over his face. “Yeah, I know.”

Vulko stays silent, a patient, waiting presence.

“Okay,” Arthur sighs. “I’ll do it.”

*

“No,” Arthur says, vehement. “Veto. _No_.”

“My Lord--” somebody says. Arthur doesn’t turn to look.

“I am _not_ fucking my _brother_ in front of _thousands of people_ ,” Arthur snarls. “Fuck. I don’t think I could even get it up.”

“There are... medicines...” Somebody else suggests, but the way Arthur’s knuckles tighten around his trident shut them up. For a long moment silence reigns in the room.

“A compromise,” Vulko suggests, tone even. Arthur doesn’t look at him either, although he knows the Atlantean is just trying to help. Right now Arthur isn’t feeling too inclined to like full-blooded Atlanteans. “A private room, but the ceremony will be broadcasted.”

Arthur clenches his teeth but it’s likely the best deal he’s going to get. And he already agreed to the act anyway.

“Fine,” he says. Pretty soon after that the meeting breaks up and he swims down the long hallways to Orm’s cell.

Despite being a prisoner Orm is treated well; he has real furnishings and access to a variety of creature comforts. When Arthur enters Orm looks up from an Atlantean datapad, a little rod of a device that projects text onto a screen of dense water. It looks a bit like some of the gadgets Wayne uses, only -- and Arthur might have to tell Wayne this, to see the look of affront on his face -- more advanced.

“Arthur.” Orm deactivates the pad and sets it down on his bed, rising to greet him. “I assume by your expression that Vulko finally informed you of the Rite of Mercy.”

“Mercy,” Arthur snorts. “Yeah right.”

“Mercy, for the defeated still lives afterward,” Orm says. “Although, yes, the term is debatable.”

Arthur looks at Orm. “You know that you could call this off,” he says. “I’ve got the trident. It’ll be enough.”

“Dear Arthur.” Orm smiles thinly. “I was the one to suggest it in the first place. Don’t imagine you’re forcing me into anything.”

“So it’s not required?” Arthur blinks.

“Once proposed, it’s required,” Orm corrects. “It’s just that generally the winner is the one to propose it.”

Arthur makes a face, and Orm chuckles.

“So why did you ask for it?”

“Despite what you think, I wasn’t a bad king.” Orm looks away and trails his fingers along the shelf-desk that protrudes out of the wall. “Atlantis needs stability after this transition. You need support for the crown.”

“And the Rite was the only thing you could do as a prisoner.”

“Besides foment revolution, yes.” Orm’s eyes flash up in a glance, the twist to his mouth wry. “Which rather goes against my stated goals.”

“Mom would kill you,” Arthur predicts, and for a moment naked hunger is present on Orm’s face. “Ah--did you get her videos?”

“After she received a proper communication device, yes.”

“Oh, yeah.” Arthur grins. “Skype didn’t work out so well, did it.”

“Surfacer technology never does, when trying to interact with superior equipment.” Arthur rolls his eyes at Orm’s tone. “In any case, she and I have been exchanging messages with fair regularity.”

“Uh, you didn’t tell her about this, right?”

This time _Orm_ rolls his eyes. “Of course not. She would have tried to talk me out of it. She’ll hear about it after it’s done.”

“Uh.” Arthur pauses. “Does she have to hear about it at all?”

“It won’t be a secret.” Orm cocks his head, meeting Arthur’s eyes straight on. “Ah. This is because we’re brothers.”

“Well... yeah.”

“Familial ties aren’t so much of an obstacle in Atlantis as on the surface, as long as they don’t result in children. Vulko ought to have taught you that, at least, when he was lecturing you on history.”

“I didn’t pay as much attention when he started talking about ancient kings.” Arthur shrugs sheepishly. Orm sighs.

“I should have known.”

“Hey.”

“I hope Vulko has at least given you a thorough explanation of the Rite.”

“...Sort of,” Arthur says. At Orm’s glare he raises his hand. “What? I got the gist of it, okay? I don’t really want to hear from my grand vizier that I’ve got to fuck my brother in order to assert my dominance, or whatever.”

“In order to--” Orm breaks off with an exasperated hiss. “No matter. You understand the mechanics well enough. Do you know what it means for us, afterward?”

“You’re pardoned.” Arthur kicks forward a little, close enough to put his hand on Orm’s arm. “Right? That’s what Vulko said, that you’d be released.”

“Exactly.” Orm leans very slightly into Arthur’s touch. “The Rite is a public subjugation, which counts as a sentence and reparation all in one. After, there is no doubt about who holds more power.”

“Theoretically.”

“In truth,” Orm says. “No Atlantean would respect one who publicly submitted over the crowned king.”

“Sure,” Arthur concedes, but he’s not actually stupid. People were people, and somebody would definitely be unhappy that there was a surfacer on the the throne. If Orm really wanted to he could stir up that revolution.

Looking at him, Arthur doesn’t believe he really wants to.

“I came here to let you know that we’re not doing it in the coliseum. It’ll be here, and broadcasted.”

“Hm. At your insistence, I suppose.”

“Yeah.”

“I... appreciate it.” Orm’s tone is grudging, but he leans harder into Arthur’s hand. “I’d also suggest editing the footage before releasing it.”

“Definitely.”

“When will it be performed?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Hm.” Orm taps his fingers against his crossed forearms. “Good.”

Arthur hovers for a long moment, but Orm doesn’t seem like he’ll say anything else. His gaze is distant, abstracted.

“I’ll... see you tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” Orm says absently. “Goodbye, Arthur.”

Arthur swims out of the cell without looking back.

*

They dress him in a robe, orange and green, which floats distractingly around Arthur’s legs in the water. Vulko drills him on the ceremonial words he has to say right up until he gets through the door. This turns out to be a good thing because all thought is knocked right out of Arthur’s head when he sees how they dressed Orm.

Sheer purple robes with delicate silver-white patterns, shimmering opalescence chasing over the threads with every tiny current of movement. They’re just opaque enough to hide Orm’s body from clear sight, but pale flashes of skin are revealed as Orm bobs in the water: the hint of thigh, a flash of abdomen. His feet are bare.

For a long moment Arthur is dumbstruck. Until he finally meets Orm’s eyes and the hot glare he receives jerks him back to reality.

Somehow he gets through the ancient Atlantean without stumbling. Orm’s voice is rich and low, theatrical as he recites his portion of the Rite. Even now he’s playing to an unseen audience.

When he finishes he drifts down to a kneeling position on the floor, arms spread slightly out to his sides with his head bowed. That’s Arthur’s cue.

From all that Arthur has heard and read, the Rite is generally violent despite its name. No wonder, given that it’s initiated after an usurpation of the throne, but Arthur doesn’t want to do that to Orm. Not to his little brother.

He slides the robe off Orm’s shoulders until it pools at his waist, then clicks his tongue as he makes a cutting motion with his hand.

“Hey.”

Silence.

“Hey, Orm.”

Still silence. Arthur pokes Orm in the forehead, which earns him a glare from straining eyes, given that Orm doesn’t move his head.

“I figured we’d edit this part out, so you can talk a little. Otherwise it’s kind of, uh. Creepy.”

Orm heaves an explosive sigh. His expression is all exasperation when he lifts his head, but Arthur imagine he can see a hint of gratitude in his eyes.

“What is there to say?”

“Well, tell me you’re, uh. Prepped. Or there’s lube somewhere.”

“You really know nothing.” Orm doesn’t stand, but a ripple goes through his muscles like he wants to.

“Hey! I read some stuff, but all the descriptions of the Rite involved blood and--like, people killing themselves afterward. Not very reassuring.”

“Because those who invoked it did so to be cruel. Not because... hm.”

“What?”

Orm looks contemplative, which is worrying given that he’s staring right at Arthur’s crotch.

“I may have neglected some aspects of my research into you.”

Okay, now Orm is starting to sound like Wayne. “What does that mean.”

“You’re quite... mammalian. Aren’t you.”

“Yeah?” Arthur doesn’t like how this conversation is starting to go off the rails. “Because humans are mammals...?”

Orm just hums in answer, shedding the rest of his robes with a sinuous wriggle. “You won’t hurt me, so you can proceed with a clear conscience.”

Arthur looks down but Orm is still hunched over so he can’t see much except Orm’s back. There’s something funny about his spine; a purple line, like a tattoo, except it doesn’t move right. It’s almost like an implant under the skin. 

Now that they’re back on script Orm won’t talk. Arthur can say whatever he wants, but Orm is supposed to keep silent. It’s within Arthur’s right to gag him, even, but he refused. He’s not into that.

Or, he thinks in a very secret part of himself, he didn’t think he was into that. The way Orm’s mouth parts as he tips his chin up threatens his understanding of what he might be into. Two days ago he never would have thought about fucking his brother, and now look at him.

“Stand up,” Arthur urges, and lifts Orm’s chin higher. His whole body rises with the motion until he’s on an equal level with Arthur, floating a couple of inches off the floor. Arthur takes the time to strip off his own robes.

They gave him what was apparently the Atlantean viagra equivalent, but Arthur didn’t really want to take it. He compromised by crushing the pill in the water above his open mouth instead of swallowing it whole, figuring that would give him a partial dose. It seems to have worked: he’s nearly fully erect but not all the way, and a pleasant warmth burns in his gut. Orm’s gaze seems caught on his cock.

Arthur sees why immediately. Orm’s cock _glows_ , a delicate spiraling pattern of dots like the markings on a blue-eye. A thicker line delineates the underside to run between his balls, and another two trace around to fade out over his hips. The glow pulses as he watches and it takes a bit for Arthur to realize that the rhythm matches Orm’s heartbeat.

“Pretty,” Arthur murmurs, and reaches out to touch. Orm jerks a little, hands clenching into fists, but otherwise he keeps determinedly still. He strokes, thumb feeling along the hot length of skin, and is rewarded with the knowledge that the glowing areas feel slick and a little cooler. Like a fish scale, he thinks with a smirk.

When he meets Orm’s eyes again they’re heavy-lidded and his face is flushed. Maybe they gave him something too, something to relax him and make it feel good. He hopes so.

Arthur turns him by the hips. Then he realizes he has no idea how to fuck somebody underwater; there’s no leverage, no way for Orm to keep his legs spread without something to brace on. Orm must sense his hesitation because he moves his arm in what could be an attempt to balance himself but which draws Arthur’s attention to a protruding ridge in the wall.

The shelf desk. Of course. He pushes Orm towards it until his knees bump against it. When Arthur tries to plaster himself against Orm’s back, Orm ducks his head.

“No,” he says, barely moving his lips. “I should hold the ledge.”

Arthur jerks backward at the first word, but floats closer again when Orm explains. “Come on, little bro,” he says for the recording. “Bend over for me.”

Orm breathes out on something that’s _almost_ a snort. He presses his palms up against the underside of the ledge and plants his feet against the floor, back arched and ass out. Shit. Like this Arthur can see that the purple line runs all the way from between his shoulder blades to just above his tailbone.

“Hope you’re ready for me,” Arthur says, and presses a finger against Orm’s hole. Orm shudders. Arthur has to suppress his own shudder; Orm is loose and takes him in easy, all hot rippling muscle, and soon Arthur has three fingers spread and twisting. Orm leans his head against the desk and lets a soft sound pry free from his throat.

Yeah. That’s enough. Arthur lines up and pushes and Orm is tight, but a comfortable sort of tightness, and he pants at each inch Arthur sinks into him. When Arthur reaches around he’s still hard, and -- he glances down to see a faint blue glow reflecting off his thighs -- still fluorescing. When he pulls his hand back there’s a blue smear over his thumb.

Shit. _Shit._ Orm’s precome is blue, his come glows _blue_. That should not be as hot as it is.

“All right?” Arthur murmurs, and rolls his hips to hear the catch in Orm’s breath. “Come on, little bro. You get yours before I get mine.”

When Arthur calls him by their familial title Orm’s back flexes. He likes that. He likes it a lot. Arthur digs his fingers into Orm’s hips and fucks him hard, water rippling around their bodies to stir their hair into a tangled mess. At some point Orm starts to moan, short sharp little noises on every punched out exhale. The water around them begins to take on a faint glow, proof of Orm’s arousal.

“Come on, little brother.” Arthur snaps his hips harder and Orm nearly bashes his head into the wall. “Almost there, aren’t you? I want to see you lose it.”

Orm groans again and moves on the next thrust, laying his chest against the shelf to brace his one forearm against the wall. His free hand moves between his legs.

 _There you go,_ Arthur thinks but doesn’t say. Orm’s feet are off the floor now, his body held still by Arthur’s grip on his waist and thighs. He clenches tight and arches climatically, mouth open, but doesn’t yell. Arthur is surprised by how much he wants him to.

But the _real_ surprise is how the purple line along Orm’s spine shifts. As Arthur continues to pound into him -- god, hot, tight, squeezing around his cock as Orm writhes through his orgasm -- thin purple spines, the same shade and iridescence as his long-discarded robe, slide out of the skin of Orm’s back and flare upward to bristle in a protective arch. They narrowly miss Arthur’s belly and suddenly Arthur realizes why Orm had them in the position they’re in. Arthur could have been gutted if he were pressed against Orm’s back.

There’s definitely something wrong with Arthur’s priorities, because somehow that’s really hot instead of cock-witheringly terrifying. Orm is shivering now, blue glow spreading out from beneath him, and his spines wave in the water. Arthur strokes careful fingers over one until he reaches the thin membrane of skin that stretches between them close to Orm’s more human anatomy, and Orm chokes out a whimper. When Arthur tugs lightly Orm _whines_ , helpless, and Arthur abruptly--well, loses his mind a little, maybe.

He wraps his hands around Orm’s spines, one at the middle of his back and one nearer to his tailbone, and _pulls_ him onto his cock for every thrust. Orm wails, legs kicking, arms reaching back to try and grasp something of Arthur’s, and he comes all in a rush. Orm lies limp and shivering in the water until Arthur pulls out.

“You okay?” Arthur maneuvers around the spines to pull Orm vertical and face him. Orm’s features are slack, mouth open and dazed, eyes hazy. But he doesn’t look like he’s in pain.

He blinks, slow and languid. Dips his head in the slightest nod.

Arthur lets out a slow breath, anxiety uncoiling from within his chest. Good. He didn’t mean to lose control at the end like he did. Shit, he’s learning all sorts of things about himself lately.

“It’s finished,” he says, and recites the closing phrase of the rite in Atlantean. Orm doesn’t have to do anything for this part, presumably for the exact reason why he can’t; he’s not fit for it. He still shudders every once in a while, and his cock is still hard against his belly. The spines continue to bristle.

“Uh,” Arthur says, eyeing the pulsing glow of Orm’s cock. “You _are_ finished, aren’t you?”

Orm bites down on his lower lip and sucks it between his teeth.

“You aren’t,” Arthur concludes. Damn. Unsettlingly hot. “Okay. C’mere.”

It’s only when he has four fingers back in Orm’s body and Orm’s spend on his fingers that he realizes that the rite is over; Orm is no longer obligated to be the one taking it.

He just likes it. Likes Arthur giving it to him, likes Arthur wringing those sweet noises out of his throat. Likes Arthur inside him. Likes Arthur, period, maybe.

Maybe Arthur likes it too.

**Author's Note:**

> plingokat @ twitter
> 
> \---
> 
> was this all an excuse to write spiney orm fucking, you ask??? of course it was.


End file.
